The Little Way and the Narrow Door

Friends,

I was reminded again this week of a simple truth: the little way opens the door to the narrow way.

One of the great teachers of this idea is Saint Thérèse of Lisieux. She wrote about small actions done with great love—how ordinary, sometimes tedious things, when offered with kindness, can quietly open the doorway to extraordinary love.

I have a spiritual practice that may surprise you.

I make both of my daughters’ lunches every school day.

One of them is currently on a kick with organic spring lettuce and raspberry vinaigrette. She loves grilled chicken—specifically a little on the charred side. I marinate it for a couple of days, grill it on my Green Egg, slice it just right. For whatever reason, this act has become holy to me.

My other daughter prefers naan bread, lightly toasted, with post oak ham, garnished with bacon. Perfectly cut. A small toothpick to hold it together inside her lunch. Another, custom, holy action.

We finish each lunch with fresh fruit and some form of very unhealthy dessert—which brings me great joy.

Now, this may seem tedious. Some might even call it pointless. But I absolutely love making their lunches.

It’s a little, hidden, unseen practice where I feel connected to them in the middle of their day. And I can’t help but wonder if one day—maybe in their mid-50s—they’ll remember these lunches. Not because they were extraordinary, but because they were made with intention and care.

What I’ve found is this: the true spiritual life is not found in grand gestures, but in small, consistent, loving ways throughout the day.

And here’s something else I’ve discovered—if I can find the Divine in making little lunches, I eventually begin to find Him in the unseen practices of my work. In a cup of coffee made for my wife each morning. In quiet moments of preparation I’d normally rush past.

Then my eyes start opening to other things I usually take for granted.

Two men pick up my trash each week and haul it to a place I’ve never seen. Someone, somewhere, sewed fabric together and filled it with duck feathers so I could wear a jacket today and stay warm. And then—last but not least—I began noticing my breath. Each one arrives without effort. Somehow, some way, there has always been another.

And here’s the astounding truth: if you can find even a teaspoon of grace in your life, you may suddenly realize you’re swimming in an Olympic-sized pool of it—one you’ve forgotten was ever there.

So if the little way is the path to the narrow way, and the narrow way is something few people find, may we begin right where we are—

with the small, the little, and the mundane.

The world is big and ever-expanding, but life is bite-sized.

Namaste,

Ashton